His almost hysterical state might be out of all proportion to the juvenile humour of the sallies, but he had had little about which to laugh since the start of the Quest.

It's therapeutic, he thought, as he clutched his sides and rolled from side to side. Better out than in, they say…

This last thought, for some reason, evoked further laughter from him.

At last, the hilarity died down to a few brief chuckles, as an angry Numal, wearing Guy's body, strode into the small encampment.

"What is the matter with you fellows?” he demanded, in a guttural voice. “I've been out hunting all morning, and I find you all sitting around, giggling like schoolgirls! I just want you to know that I've had a thoroughly unproductive morning, and I'm fed up. I'm no country boy, and I know we've got stores of preserved food with us; why don't we just use them?"

Grimm still felt the aching in his cheeks and ribs, but he welcomed the Necromancer's timely intervention.

"We have enough food for maybe three weeks, Numal,” he said in a calmer voice. “We didn't expect to be held up by serious injuries, and we're not really sure what lies ahead of us. It's better to save what we've got until we really need it. Believe me, it's better that way."

"I still don't know what you expect me to do,” Numal said in an aggrieved tone. “I don't know whether the plants and fungi are poisonous or edible, and I have no idea how I'm meant to use these damned snares."

The Necromancer held out a handful of slender, jangling, metal contrivances, as if they were evidence in some city trial.

Quelgrum snapped the hanging end from a knotted thread with his teeth and stood up. “It's all right, Numal,” he said. “I'm feeling a lot better now, and I often had to hunt for food in my fugitive youth. Hand me those snares, and I'll fetch us enough food for a meal worthy of any King."